


Pest control

by chimosa



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimosa/pseuds/chimosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester investigate a case in Baltimore involving everyone's favorite cannibal.</p><p>Language and light gunplay warnings, but even that's a stretch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pest control

Breaking into the kitchen was actually the easy part. Which was pretty ironic, when Sam thought about it for more than two seconds. You'd think whatever this Lecter guy was he'd care more than a little that the most obvious signs of his otherworldliness were in as accessible a place as his fridge but, nope, that was a well stocked assortment of organs in there.

"Dude," Dean whispered, disapproving, when Sam peeled back the lid of a fancy glass Tupperware to get a better look.

Yeah, that was definitely a lung.

Sam shrugged, putting it back as silently as he could before shutting the fridge door.

The easy chatter of voices came from a room beyond and Dean pressed against the wall to peer past the slightly open door.

"Some kinda dinner party, looks like," Dean breathed, stepping back. "Wonder if they know that's people they're eating?"

"Pretty hard to miss," Sam noted. "What with all the missing organs around these parts."

"Yeah, well, color me shocked the Feds can't follow a simple trail of bodies," Dean said, unthinkingly snagging a cracker with a dark tapenade and lifting it to his mouth before thinking better of it.

Good to know his insatiable hunger had limits; the way he'd seen his brother eat had made Sam wonder more than once. 

"So what do you think? Unwitting guests or fellow Soylent Green eaters?"

"Hard to say. Could be some kind of twisted epicurean club."

Dean's face went blank, like it usually did when something went above his head but he was being too macho to admit it.

"Rich people that get together to eat weird shit because they can," Sam translated and immediately Dean bristled.

"I knew that."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Who are you?" A voice demanded and there suddenly was a gorgeous woman with dark hair and the bluest eyes Sam had ever fallen in to.

"Uh-" he said, searching for a quick response but he was coming up empty. "We're. Yeah, see, we're—"

"Exterminators." Dean broke in. "There's an infestation of rare flying ants in the area. Deadly flying ants. And we're just making sure this house isn't infested."

Dean lifted the crackling EMF reader and haphazardly waved it around the air. The woman crossed her arms, an eyebrow quirking disbelievingly. Her eyes traveled to the jimmied open window and the track of mud their boots had left on the pristine floorboards.

"Nope, doesn't look like there's a problem in here. Well thank God, those little buggers are—"

"Does Hannibal know you're back here?"

"Of course," Dean answered with a winsome grin that usually worked a hell of a lot better than it did on this woman. "Who do you think let us in?"

"Of course I know they are here, Alana," an exotic voice repeated guilelessly from the doorway. "Who do you think let them in?"

Sam's hand automatically reached for his lower back and the gun that was hidden in his waistband there. The man that stepped into the room— Hannibal Lecter, if their surveillance had been right— wore a charming smile that didn't quite reach his deep brown eyes. 

The way he moved, so lightly with absolute confidence, was just as disconcerting as his quick hand, brushing Sam's back with sensual familiarity before darting away again. 

"I trust you were unable to find any unwelcome pests?" Lecter asked, face unreadable, and with a start Sam realized the pressure of his gun against the skin of his back was gone.

Shit, Lecter was fast.

The way he smiled, Sam knew his realization was being noted and savored. 

"Yeah," Sam said, voice wary. "You're good."

Sam studied Lecter— his pressed suit, his polished shoes, his aloof expression, his slicked back blond hair— and he could almost believe this was the Devil himself standing in front of him. If Sam hadn't been Lucifer's meat suit of choice, once upon a time.

"Excellent." He turned to the woman— Alana— and motioned to a bottle of wine. "Please, if you wouldn't mind taking that to the table, I'd hate to leave Will out there alone, with only himself for company. You know as well as I what dark places his thoughts can lead him to."

His voice was normal enough, Alana was still in the kitchen, but his eyes glittered almost feral as he leaned closer.

"As for the two of you, I hope you have a minute so that we can settle my bill. I'd hate for you to leave without first getting what you're owed."

"Awesome," Dean said, smile wide and toothy, also performing for Alana's benefit, though his acting left a lot to be desired.

When they were alone Dean's face wiped clean and he dropped the EMF to draw his gun and point it at an unconcerned Lecter.

"What the hell are you?" Dean demanded.

Lecter glided closer as Dean clicked off his gun's safety, but Lecter paid him little mind. Instead he gently placed Sam's gun on the vast countertop in the middle of the kitchen and stepped back. 

He raised his hands peaceably but Sam had the feeling Lecter was just as dangerous disarmed as he had been with a gun.

"While I would enjoy nothing more than to dispose of a couple of troublesome hunters, I'm afraid I'm being terribly rude to my guests."

"What are you?" Dean sneered. "The Emily Post of freaks?"

Lecter tsked. "Freak? Is there really any reason for such infantile name calling? I've certainly evolved beyond my kind's usual raison d'être, I urge you to do the same."

As he spoke, Sam took the distraction Dean was giving him to edge toward his gun. When he was as close as he could get, Sam dove for it but Lecter was fast— faster than Sam could even comprehend. All he knew was one minute he was jumping forward, the next his spine was denting the wall.

Dean's gun cracked, the sound ringing loud in the cavernous kitchen, and when Sam landed on his ass he could see Lecter was on the other side of the kitchen and completely unscathed.

There was a patter of footsteps running toward he kitchen and Sam had just enough time to roll out of the way before the door swung open and smashed into the wall he had been on moments before.

Alana was back, along with a new man that Sam recognized all too well from surveillance. Will Graham. FBI. 

Shit.

Graham's eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses and his hands were steady as he pointed his own government-issued and way-more-legal gun at Dean.

"Drop it," he said in a voice that brokered no arguments. 

Luckily Dean seemed to recognize the agent, too, because he was pointing the gun at the ceiling and wearing his familiar let's-all-get-along face.

"Oh, hey, see, this isn't what you think."

"Exterminators, huh?" Alana said from behind Will's shielding shoulder.

"I told you those flying ants were a bitch to deal with. We at Bug-Be-Gone take our jobs _very_ seriously."

It was a tense stand off.

Of course that's when Bobby called, yelling at "you two id-jits to drop whatever yer doin' and get over here now."

"Kind of in the middle of something," Sam said into his cell all too aware of the eight eyes staring at him.

"I don't care if it's the goddamn apocalypse on yer end, on mine it's something ten times worse, so get your asses in gear. Now."

"We gotta go," Sam said to Dean when he snapped his phone closed.

"Dude, seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Shit. Well, okay," Dean said, holstering his gun. 

"Leaving already?" Lecter taunted with the barest hint of a sneer.

"Looks like. But don't worry, we'll be back. We love making house calls. Come on, Sammy," Dean said, crawling back out the window with as much dignity as he could.

Sam grabbed his gun as he walked across the kitchen, trying not to worry about Graham's gun barrel following his progress. 

"Uh," Sam said when he was halfway through the window. It felt awkward to leave so suddenly. Almost rude. 

"You have a lovely home—" Sam started to say before Dean's hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him the rest of the way through.

It was dark as they turned away from Baltimore proper to the long lonely stretch of highway that would lead them Bobby-ward. Sam had a flashlight in his mouth as he consulted a map for their next turn off. 

What he'd give for a GPS, but Sam knew better than to mention any technology made post-'90s to his brother. 

Dean was muttering to himself and it took a moment for Sam to get what it was he was saying.

"Fast. Eats human parts. Something primal but he's adapted. Smart. Not human but can play human. Mimic, at least..."

Suddenly Dean pounded on the steering wheel hard enough to make Sam jump.

"Wendigo. Son of a bitch."

"Huh?"

"That Lecter guy, he's a wendigo."

"Dude," Sam said, nearly laughing. "There's no way."

But Dean was relaxing, settling back into his seat satisfied that he had it all figured out. "Cannibal, Sammy, with that kind of speed and smarts? Wendigo."

"There are a dozen things that fit that profile—"

"Wendigo."

"He doesn't even look like—"

"Wendigo."

"Would you quit saying—"

"Wendigo."

"Dammit, Dean," Sam yelled, exasperated. 

"Pretty neat cover, to be all happy homemaker when he's a good for nothin' cannibalistic monster. Makes you wonder if any others like him have evolved. Gordon Ramsey. Martha Stewart."

"Dude, Martha Stewart is _not_ a wendigo."

"I dunno, Sammy, she seems to pack an awful lot of crafts into one day. That kind of speed ain't natural. And there's something not quite right about her, right around the eyes."

Sam let his head fall against his window loud enough to make a satisfying thump.

It was going to be a long drive, listening to Dean's bizarre conspiracy theories. Sam banged his head against the window again, hoping for the peace a coma would bring.


End file.
